


Snow

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mountain Setting, Romance, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29403318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: Merlin, Arthur and the cold sting of winter snow.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61





	Snow

Merlin is washing kettle and mugs under the tap, his knuckles red and raw from the cold running water and harsh soap. Arthur almost feels guilty for having turned up, all the way up here, so that Merlin felt like he had to conjure up tea and afternoon snacks to go with it. But just as Arthur blaming of himself waxes at its fullest, Merlin lets off what he's doing to stare at the window that faces the front of the chalet. He stays like that for a few lengthy beats, gaze fixed on the outside – though you can't see the valley unless you walk out to the edge of the hill and let yourself peer outwards and downwards – and then he cuts off the water, smiling from ear to ear.

Arthur doesn't understand Merlin's reaction. What has evoked that smile, that glint in his eye. What has torn him from his task? He grasps it even less, when Merlin, having dried his hands on a kitchen rag, throws the door open and walks outside. As he is, in shirtsleeves, and those rolled up. 

Arching an eyebrow, Arthur calls out, “Merlin!”

But as the latter doesn't answer, no other option remains but for him to follow outside. It's detectably colder than it was when Arthur came over just after lunchtime. The air nips at his face, bites at his knuckles, and quickly turns his joints leaden. He comes to stand next to Merlin, who's looking upwards, face tilted towards the louring sky. 

“It's snowing,” Merlin tells him, deeply inhaling the frosty air. 

Arthur was focusing on Merlin's face, the shape and contour of it, rather than on other outside factors. When it's pointed out, however, he must acknowledge that so it is. Swirls of snow flakes are eddying down a storm, knocking into each other and stinging their faces with their cold touch. They're slowly depositing on the ground, forming a slim patina that yet promises to soon become a mound. 

“Yes.” Though Arthur can find the charm in it, especially up here, so close to the mountain itself, he's starting to feel the cold. “I realise.”

“Well, it's a miracle.” Merlin looks as if he's lost in it, in the beauty of it. 

“I'm sure it is.” Arthur bites back a retort – that's it's quite common here, given their location and comparative altitude – and instead attempts to tune in with Merlin, to observe the snow fall as if it is something quite special and uncommon. He supposes that, viewed in a certain light, it is. One just has to shift one's focus away from the ordinary and move it into the realm of introspection. 

Merlin seems to sense that Arthur is trying to focus on the phenomenon at hand, what he's pointing out, and appears pleased by it. “When people say it's snowing, they're generalising.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow.

Merlin nods at the angry skies. “Ice crystals are in the atmosphere as needles, columns and plates and form into snow flakes or snow grains or even ice pellets. That's what you'd call hail, by the way.”

Arthur smiles not so much at the snow, which is still going strong, as at Merlin. “Is that right?”

“And once it lies on the ground it can have different properties, so they're classified into snow crusts or depth hoars or surface hoars.”

Arthur listens, not sure that he's absorbing all of this information, but still interested, if not in atmospheric precipitation, then in Merlin's passion. He belongs up here, so close to the skies. He's like a creature of rock and ether.

“And then you can differentiate snow packs on the basis of how they're affected by sun, wind and air temperature. So you get cornices, pillow drifts, or wind crusts.” Merlin inhales the sharp air. “And it may seem like a lot of fuss over nothing, but it's not. It's how you predict danger on these mountain passes. It's how you prevent accidents and save lives.” He sounds so passionate and full of life that he almost infuses his surroundings with a spark of natural magic. “That's what mountain people live by.”

“Then I like mountain people.” It's not exactly what Arthur means. He's specifying the whole, when he means the single individual, but he's not ready for grand declarations yet. They're building up inside him – like snow on the ground –, but he wants to nurture those feelings before he finally outs them. For now he just enjoys the strange warmth that circles through him like a current from milder climates. 

“That's good,” Merlin says, his dark hair now speckled with snow. The contrast is quite fetching.

Arthur makes a noise in his throat. It dissimulates a shiver. Merlin seems impervious to the dropping temperatures, but the cold is getting more and more pungent as the snow settles thickly on the ground. 

While he's not outwardly affected by the piercing cold, Merlin, too, takes notice of this accumulation. It doesn't seem to faze him in the least, it's just a given, but then again his job and survival depend on his ability to cope with his environment.

“In a while it'll be impassable round these parts.” He shields his eyes to look into the distance. “You'd be better off staying here tonight.”

Arthur wagers that if he were to set off right now he would make it back to the plain and the village before the path got really blocked. But he has no intention to do that. He'd rather take up the offer, for staying with Merlin is far more enticing than trying his luck on the path. To be honest, he'd be delighted to stay even if the sun was shining with all the playful warmth of a summer's day. This is just a great accidental opportunity. He's never had occasion to spend so much time with Merlin as the prospect of staying overnight implies. He's never been so close to achieving this much intimacy. He finds himself longing for it, wishing for it. He can almost sense how the evening could unfold. He peers at Merlin then, makes it look as if he's still scoping out their surroundings, as if trying to establish whether he should get going or not. Unavoidably, he gets lost in the looking. Merlin's features draw him in like a bee to honey. He wants to linger on them; take them in and dissect them for better storage in his memory. As he's deeply involved in doing this, he realises that it's taken him too long to respond. “Yes,” he says then. “Yes, it's much wiser to stay.”

Merlin seems cheered by that, a dimple digging itself in his cheek, a glint like a hearth fire appearing in his eyes. “Good.” The word comes out breathy, with an upward lilt to its pronunciation. “Come inside,” he adds, as he turns away from the view. “I'll find you things for the night, get you blankets, and we can turn the radio on. I promise, you won't get bored, city man.”

Heart lifting, Arthur follows Merlin back into the little wooden lodge with its sloping roof.


End file.
